Of Whispers and Plots
by TheColorsInShadow
Summary: A year after "that night", nothing has changed. Byakuran has the world in the palm of his hand, and Fran is alone, fighting a war by himself. But behind the scenes, a revolution is starting that will shake the earth to its core. And Fran lies at the center of it all. Sequel to Of Knives and Glamour. Bel/Fran, X/S, 6927 and more. AU.


**A/N**

** Disclaimer: DO NOT OWN.**

** Good evening, everyone!**

** For those of you who are new to this story: I'm flattered that you thought this looked interesting, but it's not going to make ANY sense unless you read "Of Knives and Glamour". You can find the story on my profile. Enjoy! See you back here soon!**

** To everyone else: WELCOME BACK!**

** To be honest, I was going to wait to post this chapter (and, consequently, the beginning of a new adventure) until I had written a bit more, in an effort to shorten the time between updates. But I just couldn't wait! I've gotten a lot of reviews over the past few months, asking about the sequel. How could I hold it back from you guys?**

** So here it is.**

** A few notes before we start.**

** The first fic was based heavily around modeling. However, as you will come to find out, this sequel is more based around Fran's re-claiming of CEDEF. The modeling is now a thing in their yearned-for past. It is mentioned, and there will probably be some flashbacks. But no. This sequel is not about modeling. Subterfuge, espionage, revenge, and heartbreak? Yes. Modeling? No. Sowwy. **

** Also, sorry kiddies. This fic is rated M for a VERY good reason. Language, for one. Possible sexy times for another. Just know what you're getting into! Wouldn't want to accidentally corrupt you, now would I? ;)**

** Finally, I want to focus on the relationships more in this fic. You'll remember from oKaG that things are super rocky between Bel and Fran, and I didn't pay much attention to the other pairings. They will get lots of love in this sequel. Not to fear. **

** And so, without further ado:**

**Of Whispers and Plots**

January 1st

A single lightbulb hung from the ratty ceiling, flickering in and out of existence. It swung back and forth faintly, moved by the shenanigans of the couple in the equally dingy hotel room above. It was just past two in the morning – the time where anyone who wasn't having _that sort_ of fun to be in bed, asleep, dreaming of a better future than the one they had. The man staring at his reflection in the broken mirror obviously hadn't gotten the memo.

The bathroom was disgusting, grimy, and infested. The man tried not to think about the number of cockroaches he had seen that evening, pretending not to notice as another one of the blasted creatures crawled up the side of the grungy sink. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, allowing himself one _second_ of self-pity before he re-entered the world.

His own eyes stared back at him, level and cool. Their aqua green color was reassuring, familiar. It steadied him.

He was terrified.

A used tube of hair dye sat guiltily in the sink, as if it felt responsible for the man's fear. His hands were covered with the stuff, the black stains looking dangerous and infected. He ran one of his painted hands through his newly cut hair, grimacing at how short it was. He was so used to feeling his hair brush gently against his chin. He didn't know if he could get used to it being this short.

The man paused, taking a shuddering breath.

He would have to.

Damn, he was scared.

He scooped up the empty bottle of dye and tossed it in the trash, enjoying the muted _thunk _it made. It had a ring of finality to it. He turned on the faucet and washed his hands in the rusty water that came through, trying to get rid of most of the dye. He dried his hands on his black t-shirt. It was the only clean shirt he had left.

He turned again to his reflection in the mirror. Pale skin, black hair, nervous expression. He had been practicing for weeks. His mannerisms had changed, his looks were altered, even his voice was different. He could do any more preparing than he had already. It was time.

_One last step._

The man stared at himself, making perfect eye contact with the reflection in the mirror. A look of concentration spread across his features. He fished a package of contacts out of his back pocket, and dipped his head toward the sink to put them in. When he looked back up, his reflection stared calmly back, a pair of dark blue eyes now set in his face.

It was odd. Weird. Strange. Wrong.

But now, it was normal.

The man took a breath, finally ready.

"My name is Leonardo Lippi. I am twenty-one years old. My father is a banker. My mother is a journalist. I have a little sister name Kuromu. She's very ill. I saw the story about Mammon in the paper. He used to be a good friend of mine. We had a falling out. I'm looking for a job. Are you hiring?"

He shuddered. He hated this. But it had to be done.

He repeated it to himself over and over again. He muttered under his breath as he exited the bathroom, gathered his very few belongings, shut off the barely-functioning light and left the room, closing the door behind him with a barely-audible click. He whispered softly as he made his way to the check-out counter, ignoring the strange look he received as he handed over his key. He added a stammer into his words as he walked down the dark, empty streets of the city, making his character more believable. More human.

He spoke until dawn. He spoke until his voice was raw and cracked. He bought a bottle of water from a corner-store with the last few dollars he had. He watched the sun come up in silence, sipping his drink and contemplating the day to come, a completely different monologue speaking in his head.

_My name is Fran Sachi. I used to work for the modeling company called the Varia. It's been over a year since I've seen them. I am almost nineteen years old. I spent my eighteenth birthday in a coma. You made me attempt murder on Tsunayoshi Sawada. I almost killed the only person I love. I am coming to destroy you. I am coming to take what is rightfully mine._

With that thought, he reached into his back pocket for his cellphone. It was a disposable one, something he had bought the night before with the bulk of his money. It only had one number in it, but that was all he needed.

He punched in a text, hit send, and then tossed the phone in the trash.

_ I'm going to fix this. I promise._

~o~0~O~0~o~

The distinct sound of gunfire exploded through the room, leaving no time to think. He maneuvered into a more sheltered position, the object in his hand feeling violent and dangerous, humming softly in his grasp. He fired off a whole round of shots, biting his lip in concentration. His enemy returned fire with equal vehemence.

He shifted his vantage point, trying to get a clean shot without exposing himself. Unbeknownst to him, his opponent had snuck up behind him, aiming the barrel of his gun directly at the back of his head.

One more shot, and it was all over.

"FUCK YOU, YOU MOTHER FUCKING FUCK!"

Bel was on his feet in an instant, blonde locks sticking up in the back from leaning against the couch for so long. His lips twisted into a scowl as the words _Game Over_ flashed onto the television screen, and tossed his controller to the ground in disgust. Squalo, who was completely unfazed by the blonde's rage, was smirking.

"Problem, Bel?"

The blonde prince kept on seething.

"There is _no fucking way _I just got beat by a fucking_ invalid_. You shouldn't even be able to _play_ this shit, let along _kick my ass_. What the _fuck_, Squ?" Squalo laughed, taking a little bit too much enjoyment from the blonde's ire. He lifted his left hand and wiggled his fingers, reveling at the sight. Xanxus had pulled some strings, and got him one of the brand new prototypes for synthetic limbs. He now had enough of a left hand to perform basic motor skills, and, it seemed, to kick Bel's ass at _Call of Duty_. He still had a hard time believing it.

"Vrait, I'm just testing out the merchandise. If you've got a problem, take it up with Xanxus." Squalo smirked wider when the blonde froze, his expression slipping into one of terror.

"Shi shi shi…on second thought, congratulations, Squ. I'm real happy for you."

Before Squalo could tease the blonde prince any more, the door slammed open and in stalked Xanxus himself.

"Could you pieces of shitty trash shut the fuck up? _Some _of us are trying to organize a revolution. While you're playing fucking _games_. So shut the fuck _up_. _Now._" His red eyes scanned the room, and settled on Squalo.

"You. Trash. With me."

Despite the rather threatening delivery, the silver haired man was grinning as he stood up and fell into place next to Xanxus. Some unspoken conversation seemed to pass between them, because they turned in tandem and left the room. The door slammed shut behind them with a solid _thunk_.

Bel sighed.

_Well, there goes my fun. Dammit. _

He raked his hand through his mess of hair, fiddling with the crown nestled in the kind of greasy gold locks. He hadn't showered in a while. None of them had, really. Cleanliness was just one of the many luxuries they could no longer afford. Video games, thankfully, were not one of them.

They were at war.

Which was a shock in and of itself. Just over a year ago, they were all models. The Varia and the Vongola were simply trade names, not a resistance. They strutted around in high-end fashion and competed for fun, not for their lives. They had things like a mansion, limousines, fame, and, most importantly, _showers_. Their problems seemed huge at the time, but really, they were nothing. Nothing at all. Not compared to this.

How much it can all change in a year.

Bel sighed again, and flopped down on the couch, lying back with his hands behind his head.

_What the fuck happened to us?_

The thin, ropy scar that twisted up the length of his back gave a stab of white-hot pain, causing Bel to curse loudly and shoot up into standing. By now, he had figured out what to do. Instead of trying to stretch, scratch, or soothe the burning pain, he had to relax. Relax the muscles in his shoulders, his neck, his back, and let the pain wash over him. He really couldn't do anything else. It was a part of him now: a terrible, painful, excruciatingly annoying part of him, but a part of him nonetheless.

_Ah, right. _That's _what happened to us. _

It had been a year. A year since _he_ tried to kill Tsunayoshi Sawada, the second heir to the relations company known as CEDEF. A year since _he_ had slipped peacefully into a coma, while Bel had been wide-awake and screaming the entire time. Five months later, when Bel left the Vongola mansion relatively whole again, _he_ was still deep in his coma. There had been talk of just pulling the plug on _him_, but Lussuria couldn't bring himself to do it. Despite all _he_ had done. Despite all the pain _he_ had put them through. So they waited.

And when _he_ woke up two months later, Bel had already forgotten him.

It was surprisingly easy, this act of forgetting. All it took was distraction, and hatred, and pain. The scar that now ran from the tip of his shoulder to the base of his spine was a reminder of his pain and his hate, and worked as a wonderful distraction. All he'd had to do was direct his hatred at _him, _at the would-be _murderer_, and objectify it. Objectify _him_. Make his hatred a tangible thing, something that can be touched and felt. And soon, so consumed by his hatred and his pain, Bel forgot _him_. Forgot the human _him_. Now _he_ was just an object, a thing, an _idea_ for Bel to hate, not a person. _He_ no longer had a name, a face, a voice, or a presence. _He _didn't exist anymore. All that existed in _his _place was hate.

But there were flaws to this method.

It didn't _really_ work. He knew that. At night, when he was alone with just his thoughts, _his_ face came to mind as easily as if _he_ were right in front of him. He remembered. He remembered everything. _His _face, _his_ voice, _his_ eyes, _his_ sarcastic laugh, _his_ mannerisms_, his_ demeanor. Everything. He couldn't help it, and he couldn't get rid of it. He could only repress it.

And so he did. In the daytime, when it mattered. In the daytime, he didn't have to worry about where _he_ was, because in the daytime _he_ didn't exist. Who was _he_? No one. Nobody. So Bel didn't even spare a thought. That way, no one gave him sympathetic looks, or asked if he was worried about where _he_ was, or what _he _was doing, because you two were so close, and… Bel wanted none of it, and by pretending he didn't care, he didn't receive a single word of sympathy.

But at night, when there was no one around to fool but himself, he wondered. He worried. He _prayed_, even though he knew no one was listening.

_Please, please let my Froggy be okay._

Because he didn't hate Fran. How could he? He knew it wasn't the kid's fault. He knew it. The Varia knew it. The Vongola knew it. Everyone knew that it was Byakuran behind the whole mess, thanks to Shoichi's whistleblowing just minutes before _it_ happened.

Bel had watched the whole thing happen, right before his eyes. Even before that night, he knew something was wrong. Fran's eyes had always been…alive. Even though he masked his emotions, even though he almost never gave away a single expression, his _eyes_ betrayed everything. Bel had never told him, because he knew Fran would see it as some kind of weak link in his near-perfect façade. But it was there. _He_ was there, in his eyes. Every emotion that he refused to show on his face, any smirk that he stopped from spreading across his lips, every tear he had ever held back, was in his eyes when he spoke. And Bel, who knew the power the eyes can have, picked up on it. He doubted that anyone else noticed. In fact, he was certain no one had. But Bel knew. Bel, who hid his own eyes for fear of the weakness they held, terrified of the emotions they betrayed, knew exactly how to read everyone else's. And Fran's were no exception.

And that day, the day that Byakuran took over Fran's actions, the day he administered some drug that turned the boy into a machine: that was the day Fran's eyes went blank.

Bel noticed. He noticed right away. He knew something was wrong.

But he had done nothing.

It wasn't Fran he hated. No. How could he? The boy had done nothing wrong. Although, Bel remembered, he wasn't a boy any more. Fran had turned eighteen while he was deep in a coma. He would be nineteen in little more than a month. He was a man now, in every sense of the word, and more. He had been through things that even Bel, with his sick obsessions and strange fetishes, couldn't even imagine. No, it wasn't Fran he hated. He could never hate his Froggy.

Bel hated himself. He _loathed_ himself, because he had had it. The key, the reason, _the answer_. He had the clue. He had the piece of information that would have saved them all. _And he did nothing_.

And he had lost Fran.

But he could never say that. He could never confess it. So his hatred for himself manifested as a hatred for Fran, and everyone else believed it. They figured Bel had good reasons to hate the boy – no, man – and let him be. But he had no reasons. He didn't hate Fran. He felt nothing but fierce feelings of protection and desire for the bo – _man._ But he let the others think they knew the truth. Because it was easier than explaining the reality.

_I'm a coward._

And now, a year and a month after the murder attempt, he was trying to make up for it.

He heard the door re-open, and hastily wiped his eyes out of habit. He needn't have worried. Any tears in him had been spent long ago. Now all he had was steely reserve.

"Oi. Prince-trash. Get in here."

Bel leapt off of the couch and sauntered over to Xanxus, but his trademark grin was absent from his face. Even after all that had happened, he knew Xanxus still hated him for what he had done to Squalo. It was a constant reminder of the monster Bel could become, and the blonde never forgot it. Neither did Xanxus. His cold, red eyes regarded him with a mix of disgust and wariness. Bel knew he deserved it, but it still stung.

He passed by Xanxus and entered the room behind him, where Squalo had disappeared earlier. How long had he been wallowing? The blonde glanced at the clock and masked his surprise.

_An hour? Shi shi shi…I really need to get fixed. That's pathetic._

Vaguely disgusted with himself, the blonde detached his eyes from the clock and swept the room, taking in its inhabitants with mild surprise. Tsunayoshi Sawada was seated at the head of a small, rectangular table, his hands clasped under his chin, and deep in thought. Kyoya Hibari, Tsuna's ever-present guard, was standing in the corner, surveying the room with cold, grey eyes. Rokudo Mukuro, Tsuna's lover and source of support and intelligence, was seated next to Tsuna, staring passively at his cellphone. Lussuria was also sitting next to Tsuna, muttering to him in a voice too low for Bel to hear. Squalo was seated next to Mukuro, next to a seat that must be Xanxus'. He was staring at the grain of the table, also deep in thought. Xanxus re-entered the room, closed the door, and sat next to Squalo, at the opposite of Tsuna.

"Sit down, Prince-trash."

The only open seat was next to Lussuria. Bel gingerly sat down, fully aware of the tense atmosphere in the room. Something was up.

"Shi shi shi…what's going on?"

To his immense surprise, everyone looked at Tsuna. Bel blinked behind his bangs, trying to take in the situation. Even Xanxus, who railed against Tsuna's power over him every chance he got, as looking to the younger man. Not in expectation, exactly, but with an intense concentration that hinted at compliance. Bel was too shocked to take in anything else. This must be serious.

Tsuna sighed, sitting back in his chair. His pensive mood was still written across his face.

"I know you all look to me, because I was in line to take over the company. But really, I'm not in charge of this movement. I don't want to be. I preferred it much better when I was running a modeling company, not a revolution." Everyone around the table chuckled at that. It was a little absurd, their transformation from "pretty boys" to revolutionaries, but the situation had demanded it, and here they were.

"Moreover," Tsuna continued, "I want to make it perfectly clear that Xanxus is the one in charge of all offensive movements. Not me. I will provide support and an opinion when I see fit, but otherwise, I am handing the keys over to him. Any objections?"

No one objected.

Tsuna sighed again, this time out of relief. "Excellent. Now, that was only part of the reason why I called you here."

Bel shifted forward in his seat. He had no idea what this group had been talking about before he'd entered the room, but he knew that whatever Tsuna was about to reveal was new to all of them.

Tsuna glanced over at Mukuro, apparently giving the floor to him. Mukuro shifted in his chair, and raised his heterochromatic eyes to the rest of the table, making eye contact with each person. His gaze lingered on Bel for a fraction of a second longer than everyone else, and suddenly, Bel knew what this was about.

"I received a text message this morning from a throwaway phone. The number no longer exists. I know, because as soon as I got this message, I tried calling the sender." He flipped this cell open and started passing is around. When Bel got it, he read the short message with outward disinterest. Inside, he was roiling with anticipation.

_Mission engaged. See you at the end._

He passed the phone without a single reaction to betray what he was feeling. He knew. He _knew_ who this was. And because he knew, he didn't say a word.

When Mukuro got his phone back, he closed it and pocketed it without another glance. Bel knew that the man had read that message a thousand times already. He didn't need to see it again.

"I got that message early this morning. By now, the sender should be well on his way to implementing his plan."

Squalo spoke for the first time. "Vrait, you so sure it's a he? You said you don't know who the sender is."

Mukuro was shaking his head long before Squalo had even finished.

"Wrong. I don't know the number. It's a throwaway phone. I do, however, know who the sender is." Squalo gazed at him in apparent disbelief. Mukuro sighed, laying his hands out on the table. "We've been in contact for the past six months. While I don't know what his plan is, I can make a well educated guess."

Hibari shifted slightly in his corner, causing everyone to snap their gazes over to him. His cold, grey eyes were latched onto Mukuro. "If you don't stop playing games, I'll bite you to death. Just fucking tell us who it is."

Mukuro glared at Hibari, who started "idly" tapping his tonfas. Mukuro turned back to the group with a passive expression. Bel raised his invisible eyebrows in respect. The pineapple head had some serious balls.

"Fine. I won't mince words. It's Fran."

Every pair of eyes immediately latched onto Bel. The blonde pointedly ignored them, making a show of leaning back in his chair, pretending to be completely unaffected by the reveal. Inside, he was brimming with a mixture of relief and fear.

_Thank god he's alive. But he might not be for long._

Mukuro cleared his throat, bringing the attention back to him. Bel gazed at him levelly through his bangs.

"As I said, Fran and I have been in contact with each other since he left the mansion. It took a month for him to call me, but when he did, he was looking for guidance in a move against Byakuran. I argued with him about it, but he was adamant. He wanted Byakuran to pay for what he did. _He_ wanted to pay for what he did." At this, Mukuro's eyes shifted unconsciously to Bel. The blonde noted it and ignored it.

"About a month ago, I called him again. I had just seen the article in the paper about Mammon's supposed suicide. He had seen it as well, and seemed to be up to something. A few days later, he called me back. He told me he had a plan, and that I shouldn't call him anymore. He would contact me when the time was right." Taking his phone out of his pocket once more, Mukuro placed it on the table in front of him.

"The message I received this morning marked the 'right time', according to Fran. He made his move. I don't know for sure what he's done, but knowing Fran, it's subterfuge. He's not one for large and glorious speeches and actions. That's our job."

The words settled heavily onto the room's occupants. It hadn't hit them until that moment that _this was it._

"I don't expect to hear from Fran again. His message made it clear that he planned to see us, but only when it was all over. Our rebellions will be synchronized, but separate. What he does ahs nothing to do with what we do. Starting now, we may as well be the only ones working against Byakuran. Likewise, Fran has no delusions or expectations of assistance from us. Where we go from here is completely up to us."

Finished with his speech, Mukuro sat back in his chair, clasping his hands in front of him. The silence that settled over the room felt thick and cumbersome. Everyone was waiting for someone else to speak.

"Shi shi shi…so, when do we start?"

For the third time in the past couple of minutes, everyone's eyes flashed immediately to Bel. This time, he met their stares with his own invisible gaze. He wasn't going to back down from this one. When he realized that everyone was waiting for him to say something else, he sighed.

"Look. I hate Byakuran as much as anyone in this room. Some might argue that I hate him even more than you all. Shi shi. So I don't see why we can't bring him down. That's what we've been trying to do, right? So what if Fr – if _he _is doing the same thing? Mukuro said it – we aren't going to be working together with _him_. So what does it matter? I'm in. Let's fuck with Byakuran as much as we can."

~o~0~O~0~o~

Hours later, Bel was standing on the fire escape outside of his bedroom window, idly etching lines into the rusty metal with his knives. The street below, which during the day was loud and constantly crowded, lay silent and dead beneath his feet. It was nearly midnight.

Soft footsteps sounded behind him, and he sighed, pocketing his knife as the intruder came up to lean against the thin rail next to him.

"Vrait. Bel. Are you okay?"

Damn Squalo. He had always tried to look tough on the outside, but he was really a kind-hearted person on the inside, especially if one of his friends was in trouble. _Friends?_ Bel thought idly, running his hand through his hair. _Yeah, I guess I'm Squ's friend. That's weird…_

Squalo was still waiting for an answer. Bel stifled another sigh, stepping away from the rail and stuffing his hands in his back pockets. He stared up at the smog-covered sky, and idly wished he could see the stars.

"Shi shi shi. I'm fine, Squ. Don't worry about me. I'll cut you again."

He could _hear_ Squalo rolling his eyes. "Vrait, no you won't, you fucker. Xanxus would have your balls." Bel grinned and laughed, but an icy drop of fear slid down his spine, because yeah, Xanxus _would_ have his balls if he ever hurt Squalo again. He'd learned that the hard way.

He heard Squalo shift, and he looked over at his silver-haired companion. Squalo was staring right back, a strange intensity in his eyes. Bel dropped his gaze to the ground, unable to keep up the invisible eye contact.

"Are you really okay with all of this? We all know how much you hate Fran. Working with him…will you be able to handle it?"

Bel chuckled at that, and shook his head.

"Thanks for your concern, Squ. I'll be fine. I told you already. Don't worry about me."

Squalo seemed like he was going to say something else, so Bel held up a hand and leaned on the railing once more.

"Go the fuck to sleep, Squalo. I'll see you in the morning. We have a big day of planning ahead. We'll need you at full power."

He could feel Squalo's gaze on him, but didn't move. The other man finally sighed, giving up.

"Vrait…okay. You should sleep too, you know. You're the genius of the group, remember?"

Bel waved his hand dismissively, and Squalo took the cue to leave. Left to his own thoughts once more, the blonde closed his eyes, reveling in the silence for a few moments.

_Mission engaged. See you at the end._

Would he really? Would he really see Fran at the end of this? Or would his Froggy hate him, hate him like everyone else thought Bel hated _him_? He didn't know if he could handle that.

_But that's a long while from now._

They still had to bring Byakuran down. He wouldn't get the chance to speak with his Froggy until the white haired bastard was brought to justice, or killed. They had to win their revolution before anything else could happen. No use worrying about it now. The way the odds were stacked, they would have enough trouble trying to implement step one, let alone overthrow one of the most powerful people of the time. No, worrying about the future was useless. They only had today, every day.

Bel cast one more glance at the sky. The smog still covered everything, but in his mind, he could see a wide expanse of stars, stretching far as the eye could see. And in his mind's eye, Fran was staring at the same sky, wishing for the same stars.

Then he turned his back and went to bed.

~o~0~O~0~o~

Fran was not staring at the sky. He wasn't even outside, nor was he in his shithole apartment. No, the teen was _still at work_ at this ungodly hour. On his first fucking day.

He had expected it to be hard, but _this_ was fucking pathetic.

~o~0~O~0~o~

Walking into the CEDEF headquarters had been surprisingly easy. Just one guard standing outside the door, and he hadn't even spared Fran a glance when he walked by. Probably figured the thin, nervous-looking teenager wasn't a threat to the company. Ha.

When he stepped into the lobby of the CEDEF building, his first thought was _holy shit_.

It was beautiful. Really. The walls were off-white, which in any other room would have made Fran instantly annoyed, but the décor fit perfectly with the color. The various tables interspersed in the room were cherry, with glass tabletops. The chairs and couches were also cherry, with black leather cushions. The floor was oak wood. Exotic potted plants were set around the room, and there were floor to ceiling windows everywhere. The ceiling itself was flat, but very high up.

While he was gaping at the sheer luxury of it all, the receptionist at the desk was staring at him with wry amusement.

"Can I help you, sir?"

Jolted out of his reverie, Fran blushed a little as he approached the desk. His first impression at his – hopefully – new workplace had been one of childish amazement. Perfect.

"Um…hi there. My name is Leonardo Lippi. I-I-I would like to apply for a job here…please."

The receptionist smiled at him kindly, and looked at her planner.

"Do you have an appointment?"

Fran made his face look nervous and panicked.

"Uh…n-no, I don't…sorry."

The receptionist smiled at him again, and handed him a clipboard with multiple sheets of paper on it.

"No problem. You're in luck. We're really open today. Just take a seat somewhere and fill these out. We can get you into an interview when you've finished, okay?" Her kindness was really throwing him off. How could such a genuinely nice person work for someone like Byakuran?

Not letting his disbelief show on his face, Fran took the paperwork with a smile and thanked her profusely. He sat himself down in one of the super-comfy chairs and started to fill in the blanks. Name? Leonardo Lippi. Age? Twenty-one. Sex? Male. He was as thorough as he could possibly be: he didn't want to raise suspicion because he didn't answer some of the important questions. But why would they suspect anything? He was just another kid applying for a job. They had no reason to suspect him of anything.

That's what he told himself, but Fran had a hard time believing it. He could see through his façade so easily. I mean, come on: hair dye and a pair of colored contacts? Anyone could see through that. But no one was looking at him strangely. In fact, no one was looking at him. He blended in so well that no one even noticed he was there. Fran could hardly believe it.

_But you know, first impressions are easy. It's keeping up the game that's the hard part._

He knew it wasn't going to be this easy the whole way through. But an easy start was always a good thing.

He finished his paperwork in under a half an hour. When he returned the clipboard to the receptionist, he was given another genuine smile, and informed that Mr. Kami would be with him shortly. That threw him for a loop. Hiding his sudden trepidation, he smiled at the girl and went back to his seat.

_Byakuran_ was going to be running the interview? That he hadn't expected. Keeping up his disguise had already gotten that much harder. Fooling a random receptionist was easy. Fooling Byakuran was going to be much more difficult. The white-haired CEO _knew_ Fran. He knew everything about him, down to the very last detail. Hair dye and contacts weren't going to work on him, not when Fran was still getting used to this character he'd put on.

_I'm gonna die. He's going to notice right away. Oh, god, I'm going to die today._

He was panicking. He couldn't control it. All too soon, the receptionist called his name, and he followed her robotically down the halls. His pulse was pounding in his ears, and he couldn't really see.

_Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit…_

Beside him, the receptionist giggled.

"You know, you don't have to be so nervous. You're practically hired already!"

Fran still had enough brainpower to turn to her and blink in confusion, but just barely.

She laughed again.

"Mr. Kami always welcomes new hires into the company. He says that new people give the company a more understanding atmosphere. He really is a nice man. You'll see!"

Fran had to hold back a snort, and the harshness of it made him choke and cough. The receptionist looked at him worriedly, but Fran waved her off. The thought of Byakuran being a _kind man_ was hilarious. If only this girl knew…

Byakuran had ruled with a reign of terror for the past year, but only a few people realized it. He had all of the major newspapers in his pocket, not to mention the leaders of multiple influential companies. He was untouchable. So while the papers spewed shit about how wonderful he was as the new CEO, the countries he was supposed to keep peace between felt the weight of his rule. He was notorious for bribing and threatening the families of those in power, in order to keep them compliant. The only way Fran knew this was true was that he'd found an underling of one of the less powerful diplomats of one of the countries CEDEF helps, and the man was a fountain of information once intoxicated. Fran had learned quite a lot from him, including the location of the headquarters where Byakuran spends the majority of his time. The way the white-haired man handled his company was sneaky, sly, and underhanded. Fran had to give him just a sliver of respect. Even though it was an awful way to run a company, Byakuran did it very, very well.

They had reached the door to Byakuran's office. Fran swallowed nervously, trying to get a handle on his anxiety. When the receptionist knocked on the door, announcing their presence, a soft "Come in" was all the response given. The receptionist opened the door and stepped slightly inside.

"Mr. Lippi for his interview, sir."

Byakuran spoke again, his voice still as soft and quiet as before.

"Thank you, Haru. Let him in. You may return to the front desk."

Haru bowed slightly and turned to Fran with a smile. He smiled back weakly, and stepped past her into the office. He heard the door close behind him, and he was alone in the room with the person he hated most.

_Oh god, please let me survive this day._

Byakuran was currently scribbling furious notes on a sheet of paper in front of him, his brow furrowed in concentration. Fran was surprised. There was something so human about his expression that he almost forgot that the man was a monster. But in the next moment, Byakuran laid down his pen and sighed, looking up at Fran with the smile that the teen knew all too well, and he any notion that Byakuran was human flew out the window. He looked exactly the same. He _was_ exactly the same. Nothing had changed.

"Welcome! I apologize for my preoccupation. It's very unprofessional. I do hope you'll forgive me." He closed his eyes and smiled wider, the grin making his purple tattoo stretch across his face.

"O-Of course I forgive you! It's no trouble!" Fran's flustered tone of voice was not completely faked. He was thrown off guard by this warm, welcoming version of the man he knew. Byakuran's natural charisma was affecting him more than he'd thought possible. He had to be careful.

The man in question raised himself from his plush-looking seat, and walked around his desk to stand in front of his possible hire. Fran kept his gaze locked firmly on Byakuran's shoes, partly in keeping with his character, but mostly out of pure fear. He was going to be caught. He really was…

_You idiot. Pull yourself together. This is the exact reason you're here. You're prepared for this._

"Mr. Lippi, is it?"

His voice was calm, collected, and even. Fran took a second to calm his frantic heart, and slipped effortlessly into character.

"Y-yessir. Leonardo Lippi."

Byakuran walked a step closer, and Fran's tension level spiked once more.

"I would prefer it if you looked me in the face during our interview, Mr. Lippi. I promise, I won't bite."

Byakuran laughed, and Fran laughed nervously along with him. Steeling himself for what he knew was inevitable identification, Fran straightened up and lifted his gaze to meet Byakuran's own. Cool lavender meet faux-blue, and neither of them blinked for an infinite moment. For Fran, time itself stopped, and his life balanced on the scale of this one moment. If the other man recognized him…

But it's true, what they say: if you're not looking for it, it will pass right by you, undetected. The white haired male smiled, clasping his hands together in front of him, happiness radiating from his features.

"Well done! That wasn't so hard, now was it, Mr. Lippi?" Not waiting for his response, Byakuran backed away from the teen and leaned against the front of his desk, hands floating down to rest on the polished wood behind him.

"Now then. Why do you want to work for my company, Mr. Lippi?"

The question was asked so nonchalantly, and so soon after what was, to Fran, a pivotal moment, that it caught him off-guard. His mind scrambling, with an awkward pause swiftly filling the room, Fran blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"I want to change things, sir."

A brief moment of shock appeared on the other man's face, but it was quickly replaced by another smile. His lavender eyes, however, revealed his curiosity.

"Change things? Could you be a little more specific, Mr. Lippi?"

Fran made perfect eye contact with Byakuran, able to think clearly for the first time since walking into the building.

"I don't know if I can be more specific, sir. The whole world needs changing. The way we run our systems is corrupt, and that's not a strong grounds for the future. The best place to change the world is right here, where the world meets to discuss compromise. The best place to plant ideas is in this very building, and the other like it around the globe. I know that changing the world is a huge enterprise, but I want to try, sir. And CEDEF is the place to do it." His gaze was steady, and his voice, calm. This, at least, he was certain of. This wasn't made up, or fit to a different character. This was Fran speaking, not Leonardo. He believed in every word he'd said.

Byakuran was eyeing him with blatant curiosity, now. He studied the man in front of him for a solid, silent minute, making Fran struggle to hold his position. Shifting his weight would break the tension in the air, and thereby break the moment. He couldn't move. He waited for Byakuran to speak.

"And what if the world doesn't want to be changed?"

At this, Fran smiled a small smile, his eyes filled with a kind of mischievous determination.

"Then I'll just have to convince it otherwise."

At this, Byakuran laughed out loud, clapping his hands together in delight. He pushed himself away from his desk, closing the gap between them once more.

"Excellent! How excellent! I haven't seen a fire like yours in ages. Such determination! I need more employees like you, Mr. Lippi. I like you think." Byakuran extended his hand, and Fran took it gently, a little dazed by the sudden turn of events. Dazed and eager. Had he really –?

"Welcome to the company, Leonardo Lippi. I do hope to see more of you in the future. Yes," Byakuran looked him right in the eyes, his beaming grin shrink to a small smile at the corner of his mouth.

"I can't wait to see what you do, Leo."

~o~0~O~0~o~

After his interview, Fran had been ushered away by a redhead named Shoichi Irie, or "Sho-kun", as Byakuran called him. Rightly guessing the Shoichi was someone very close to the white-haired CEO, Fran took in as much information about him as he could in the rushed conversation he had with the man.

"Byakuran wants you to start right away, Leonardo. Since it's so short notice, you'll be working in our file room, organizing the information we have on all of our clients. Unfortunately, it's just as boring as it sounds."

His first impression of the redhead was one of hurried panic. The man gave off unparalleled waves of anxious energy that he was making Fran nervous just by being around him. Behind his glasses, you could almost see the massive amounts of information his brain was processing at any given moment. He was the stereotypical closet genius, and seemed very overworked.

"You report to me. That means I'm your boss, so to speak. Byakuran is your _boss_ boss, but he's got other things to worry about. You answer to me, and I'm to one who will give you your assignments. Odds are, you'll never even see Byakuran. Got it?"

Fran nodded, a little out of breath from the fast paced walk down the endless hallways. He would never be able to find his way back to the entrance. This place was a maze.

Shoichi stopped abruptly, almost causing Fran to run right into him. The redhead opened a door with the twist of a handle, and ushered Fran inside. The teen was welcomed with the exhausting sight of piles upon piles of unfiled paperwork.

"Cardboard boxes in the closet. Notepad in the drawer. Stapler on the desk. Manila folders everywhere. Bathroom down the hall. Coffee in the cupboard. Sharpies in the mug on the desk. Have fun. I'll come get you when it's time to close."

And then he turned around and left.

~o~0~O~0~o~

And that had been ten _fucking_ hours ago.

Fran cursed loudly as gave himself his eleventh paper-cut of the day. Waving his hand around like a lunatic, and consequently making the pain even worse, he finally decided that that was the last straw. If Shoichi wasn't going to come to him, he was going to go to Shoichi. Because who leaves a brand new employee alone in a file room for ten hours, without checking in?

He exited the file room and slammed the door behind him, stalking up and down the hallway in an effort to locate a way out. He had located the bathroom earlier that morning, although Shoichi's direction of "down the hall" hadn't been helpful in the least. He had made another lucky find, though: in addition to the surprising amount of loose change hidden in that file room, there was a vending machine a few steps away from the bathroom. The addition of food in his life had made Fran a little less upset that Shoichi had already forgotten him, but as the hours wore on, even food hadn't been able to help much.

Not that Fran hadn't done his job. He had. All day. The file room was well on its way to becoming organized. But he could only look at statistics, maps, complaints, and trading records for so many hours a day before he went crazy.

It was almost nine-o'clock at night, for fuck's sake. The workday ended four hours ago.

Making a split-second decision, Fran started to walk in a random direction away from the file room. He was probably going to get even more lost, but hey, in a spy movie, "getting lost" was the best thing that could happen. The main character always stumbled on something interesting.

_Yeah, that's me. Fran Sachi, CIA. My code name is The Green Frog. Kinda like the Pink Panther, but less…feline. But I'm a legitimate spy. I've got my own theme music and everything._

_ …Yeah, maybe I shouldn't have had that last cup of coffee._

Taking a sharp right turn, Fran froze in his tracks when he saw Byakuran and Shoichi walking slowly away from him, deep in conversation. He immediately backed up, hiding behind the corner of the wall, straining his ears to catch fragments of their whispered words.

_"…sure that's the best choice, Byakuran? We don't even know for sure."_

_ "Sho-kun, they're still out there, and they won't take anything lying down. Find them and eradicate them."_

_ "Byakuran. They're innocent."_

_ "Irie. This is an order. Dispose of them. I don't care how you do it, but I want them gone. Find them, and destroy them."_

_ "…"_

_ "Irie. I – "_

At this point, their already faint voices disappeared. Fran sidled to the edge of the wall and peeked around the corner. Both men were nowhere to be seen.

_Well then…that was bizarre._

While Fran stood awkwardly at the corner, debating whether or not he should follow the whispering duo, and try to hear more of their conversation, Shoichi walked back down the hallway, his face flushed and his head down. Fran's eyes widened in surprise, and he bolted back to the file room, a little short of breath, but no worse for the wear. Not thirty seconds afterward, Shoichi burst into the room.

"I'm so terribly sorry. I got sidetracked, and completely forgot. Please, follow me. You should get home."

The walk back to the main entrance was silent. Fran couldn't help but sneak glances at his red haired companion, trying to figure out what the hell was going on between him and Byakuran. Shoichi's face revealed nothing but a quickly receding blush, which could have been attributed to anything. As Fran was leaving, Shoichi instructed him to return to the building at nine o'clock the next morning. Nothing else.

It wasn't until Fran was safely back in his shitty apartment that the weight of everything he'd done that day crashed upon him.

_I did it. I actually did it. I infiltrated CEDEF. I didn't get caught. Holy shit._

In a dim, secluded part of his mind, he had hoped to succeed this well. His thoughts had been dominated by the idea that he would get caught, so much so that he hadn't even considered success. But here he was. He'd done it. He'd actually done it.

And without further ado, Fran fell to the mattress, exhausted. He was asleep within minutes.

~o~0~O~0~o~

His desk was strewn with papers, and the only source of light in the room was a single desk lamp, perched precariously on a pile of folders. The curtains were drawn over the massive windows, and the room's occupant was bone tired. A half finished cup of coffee sat next to his elbow, completely forgotten. One hand held a particularly confusing piece of paper, while the other was tangled messily into his light brown hair. A pair of little-used glasses framed his face.

A soft knock on the door jolted the man out of his stupor. He glanced up in surprise, setting the paper down, quickly losing it in the sea of loose leaf on the desk.

"Come in."

The door creaked open, and in walked the one person the man had been longing to see all night.

"Tsunayoshi. It's almost three in the morning. What are you still doing up?"

Despite his exhaustion, Tsuna gave the man before him a radiant smile.

"I was just going through some paperwork. I lost track of time. Sorry, Mukuro."

Mukuro chuckled, walking around the desk to ruffle Tsuna's already messy hair. The other man smiled, swatting the hand away and trying to re-focus on his work, even though he knew it was impossible. There was just too much, and now that Mukuro was here, he wouldn't get anything done.

"You really should come to bed, you know. It's quite lonely without you." The nonchalant way in which Mukuro said those words caused Tsuna to blush and embarrassing shade of red. If Mukuro took note of his lover's distress, he did nothing to remedy it. Instead, he picked up a piece of paper from the many on the desk, and skimmed it briefly.

"I've been wondering: why keep the modeling company going? We all know what's going on, and without our best models, the Vongola aren't anywhere near the top anymore. Why not spare yourself all this trouble?"

Tsuna sighed, rubbing his tired eyes as he collected his thoughts. Mukuro hadn't been the first one to ask him this.

"If the Vongola suddenly go dark, Byakuran will know for sure we're up to something. That's why I instructed Lussuria to keep the Varia going, too. They're also not doing well, because Bel, Squalo, and Xanxus have all stopped modeling to help take down Byakuran, but at least we're all still on the map, so to speak. Without that cover, flimsy as it may be, Byakuran would be on us in an instant. I know it's not much, but if this is what it takes to keep my family safe…" He sighed, tossing aside yet another useless form, and leaned back in his chair.

He didn't hear Mukuro move, but he was suddenly hugged from behind. While the gesture was a little awkward, thanks to the chair in the way, Tsuna still relaxed into the embrace, welcoming the distraction.

"You're always thinking of others, Tsunayoshi. Now it's time to think about you. Don't think I haven't noticed you getting thinner these past few months. You aren't taking care of yourself." Mukuro's voice was low and sincere, and it sent shivers down Tsuna's spine.

"Mukuro, it's late, and I'm tired. Could we talk about this in the morning?"

A beat of silence, then:

"Of course, Tsuanyoshi. Whatever you say. Now please, come to bed. And stand up so I can hug you properly."

Mukuro's strange show of affection was a little bit weird to Tsuna, but he wasn't about to complain. Smiling a little, the brown haired male stood, turning into his lover's embrace even before he was fully upright. As soon as he felt Mukuro's arms circle around him, he relaxed fully for the first time in days.

"Much better. Now, let's get you to bed, Tsunayoshi. You're asleep on your feet."

Without waiting for a reply, Mukuro swept Tsuna swiftly off his feet, and carried him bridal style to their bedroom. Had Tsuna been fully alert, he would have protested more. But something about the rhythmic sway of Mukuro's walk, and the steady beating of his heart so close to Tsuna's ear made the man instantly comfortable. He sighed, already feeling sleep pulling at the edge of his consciousness.

"Go to sleep, Tsunayoshi. I'll be here when you wake."

It was the last thing he heard, before darkness claimed him.


End file.
